A Pesky Little Thought
by AzaleaBlue
Summary: It is now two days after the Yule Ball, and Ron still can't get rid of the pesky little thought that is bothering him. Rated only for Ron's language. [Runner Up: Best Description of Ron, Romione Awards 2016]


**A/N: This has been done a thousand times, I know.** **But I just had to write my version and share(of course).**

 **All characters belong to JKR. Written just out of love for my Ron.**

* * *

 **A Pesky Little Thought**

Ron sat at the edge of the familiar old couch that faced the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione, seated a few spaces ahead at one of the tables, was bent low over a long piece of parchment, the quill working furiously and filling up the scroll faster than he could even think. Even watching her working feverishly on one of her assignments was making him giddy- well, perhaps that wasn't the real reason, but the other thought was so odd, and well, downright barmy to be more accurate, that he forced it away.

But the nagging piece was rather unrelenting and a bit persuasive, not unlike Hermione herself, and it came back to him a little more vigorously and he groaned a little to himself.

"Where is Harry when you need him?" he mumbled under his breath, knowing well that his best mate was, quite possibly, sitting somewhere with that blasted egg and wondering how to open it. After all, Hermione had nagged him crazy about it not too long ago. So much so, that Harry had finally thrown away his Exploding Snap cards, picked up the egg in grim silence, and walked out of the portrait hole without a backwards glance. Looking back at scattered remains of the disrupted game, he had glared at her direction but she had already busied herself with her books by then and had not noticed _or bothered_.

 _There he was, once again thinking of her!_

This was getting absolutely ridiculous and a tad bit uncomfortable, to be honest. It bothered him to no ends that he had spent almost two straight days thinking majorly about Hermione, one of his two best friends. He should have been thinking about Quidditch or even Harry's upcoming task, or simply enjoyed the blissful holidays! He wasn't supposed to go mental thinking about her!

 _He shouldn't be thinking about her... he really shouldn't..._

He let out a hopeless sigh and shook his head. This made no sense, but his brain seemed to have taken a lesson from her and gone into overdrive with this thinking business. And somehow, she was everywhere, _in everything._

 _He should just bloody stop!_ He thought miserably as his head seemed to automatically turn ever so slightly towards her. A small bubble of joy erupted at the familiar sight- her face glowing by the candlelight and he quickly looked away.

Okay, so he seemed to have lost voluntary muscle control in the neck region. Now he was trying to inconspicuously watch _her_ \- Hermione Granger, the girl who had been his best friend for four years now.

It was mortifying.

He took a deep steadying breath. _Alright, there had to be a logical reason for his brain bombarding his senses with her image around the clock. There had to be a reason he could not stop thinking about her!_

 _But, on a second thought- It really wasn't that odd, was it? He sat up a little straighter._

Yes, why would it be odd? Even if he did think about her constantly, it was perfectly normal, nothing to worry or feel guilty about! After all, didn't he spend most of his days worrying about Harry during the summers? One had to worry when your best mate was stuck in a Muggle world with those crazy muggle relatives of his! Didn't he worry about Hermione when she had been petrified and was in the hospital wing for days? _Of course, he did!_

He tried feeling happy with this argument but something else seemed to be nagging him still.

He let out a sigh again, feeling a little stupid.

 _This was not exactly that kind of anxiety, was it?_

For starters, she was right next to him, perfectly safe and sound, that is if one did not count that bloody fucking Bulgarian seeker who she had gone out with for the Yule Ball.

 _Yes, that must be it!_

No matter what she said during their post-party fight (he did wish he had asked her before too, but of course he could not tell her that now, could he?!), in this case, he was only concerned about her safety. Krum was a Durmstrang and was way older for her, and more experienced and... He could not finish the thought; a fair bit of queasiness had erupted inside him.

He groaned a little louder this time than he would have preferred and thought she paused for a minute at the sound, before the scratchy noise of quill hitting parchment resumed.

He shot a quick glance at her once more, looking away just as quickly. She had finished her previous scroll and was working on another now. A thick book lay on the table so perhaps she was translating runes. She bit her lower lip in concentration and his cheeks reddened for some strange reason.

 _Stupid pale skin!_

Her hair was once more the curly, bushy mess that he _lov-_ **liked.** The way she wore her hair on the day of the ball was _beau-_ **pretty,** but he preferred her just the way she was, it was normal and familiar- it was Hermione.

Another bout of something unnamed clenched his insides and he picked up one of the cushions and fisted it hard while looking at her. He could not help it. His eyes seem to seek her out. He wondered if he could find some of those black glasses the Muggles wore so that he could watch her without her noticing and did a double take at the thought. He was going off his rocker now, he was sure.

She looked up momentarily and met his gaze with confusion. He forced a polite smile and averting his eyes, tucked the cushion behind his back. He could feel her eyes linger on him a while longer, the feeling sending a strange sort of warmth down his spine, literally forcing a stupid grin to crack on his face against his will. He closed his eyes quickly, feigning sleep and thinking of less pleasant things – _like Krum._

 _Did he regret breaking that tiny figurine he had of the Quidditch player? Not at all. In fact, he wished it was a little bigger and he could have broken it into smaller pieces. Or maybe punched the real one? That would have helped plenty._

This idea was stupid too, really, for now, a large lump of annoyance was making its way up. He hated that bloke, and to be honest, the whole lot of it felt a little strange. But every time he remembered how the Bulgarian had held Hermione on the dance floor, a dragon seemed to breathe fire inside him. He had tried convincing himself that it was because _she_ had got a chance to speak to _his_ favourite Quidditch player and spend time with him, it was actually the other way round. His anger seemed to be directed at the bloke rather than her.

Well, that was not completely true.;he was a tad bit miffed with her, after all.

He hated the forced civility that had replaced their normal bickering relationship, and he was more than a little eager to go back to what he was used to. That was comfortable and familiar and did not make him feel so strange and confused. The urge to pick up a verbal fight with her was way too great. It had been only forty-eight hours to the Ball, and he had still a lot to say about her rotten choice of a dance date.

But he had not, of course.

He had to avoid any kind of arguments with her now that _Mr-Stupid-Seeker_ was there in the picture. Ron was sure the git would use just about any chance to get closer to her- and soothing a distraught Hermione would be the perfect excuse. He would just _not_ give the Bulgarian that scope at his expense. He had to look after her; after all, she was his best friend, _the same as Harry, of course_.

His thoughts were interrupted by the softest touch of a palm that pressed gently against his shoulder; a strange tingling ensued from the point of contact to spread all over his arm.

"Ron?" she called in a hushed whisper, and although awake, he kept quiet just to hear her call him again.

 _Okay, he was definitely going barmy now._

"Ron!" she called again, a little louder this time and Ron forced himself to stop acting like a jerk and reply.

He opened his eyes slowly, rubbing them with his fists as if to rub the sleep off them.

"Yeah?" he answered, and chided himself at how solidly awake he sounded. _She would notice it for sure._

As her face came into view, her wild curls framing her face, he thought he saw a hint of a smile, but then, it could also be the light.

"Why don't you go off to bed if you are so sleepy?" she asked, but it was not her usual haughty tone- it was soft, almost a different version of her, and he continued looking at her for a while before realization of his action hit, and he scrambled up quickly and very ungracefully, rubbing the back of his neck- which for some odd reason was getting very warm.

"Um... Yeah," he mumbled without looking, and then glanced at the books in her hands before meeting her eyes.

"Are you done?" he asked trying to sound casual rather than caring(and a whole lot of other curious things he was feeling) and looked away when she met his eyes.

"I still have some work on the Charms essay but I've finished Potions, Transfiguration and Runes," she replied seriously. "And I have already wrapped up Arithmancy but I still have to knit those hats and socks..." she went on.

But he had stopped listening to her; he knew she would go on and on complaining how she wasn't doing enough. He knew she hated leaving school work pending even if it was something that was due only by the end of the next week. He knew those expressions by heart now.

Instead, his eyes had been long drawn to the slight twitch of her lips and furrowing of those brows. The freckleless face and those brown eyes, the way she pinched her nose and rolled her eyes... It was adorable...

 _WAIT! WHAT?!_

"Um...Great! Good, good... yeah... Okay, I'll just go. Very sleepy you see..." he faked a yawn and was sure did a rotten job. He could hardly help it. His brain had lost it completely.

" 'Night Hermione," he added quickly, not missing her baffled expression. Without giving her a chance to ask anything further about his blabbering mess, he left quickly. As his long legs jumped over the steps taking them two at a time, he was sure of two things.

First, he was falling for his best friend, and second- he was doomed, big time.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading.**_ _Let me know what you think of it, won't you?_


End file.
